Before the Beginning
by McrFan42095
Summary: Rated M for a reason. It'll get heated. Language, adult themes. The works.
1. Chapter 1

The Arkham Asylum for the Criminally Insane is home to those whom have suffered mentally, and in some cases even led physical suffering. It houses the ones that the jails in the city of Gotham cannot handle. Rough waves splashed up against the island that the great cold-looking building sat upon. The big building never looked completely empty. There was always a light on in some room, a scream emitting from elsewhere in the distance. You'd think it was haunted if it weren't known as the asylum.

A young woman with blonde hair opens the door to a dark office, lit by only a desk lamp.

"Dr. Crane," she called out.

"Yes?" he looked up from his files quickly, his glasses glinting for a second from the low light.

"I'll be canceling your appointment with... our little wise guy, our joker, she looked down and smirked, "I'll be taking over him," she said a bit too sternly, leaning heavily on one foot.

"Alright," he looked back down at his papers. When he senses that she didn't leave, he looked up to see her nervously chewing her lip, hesitant to close the door, "That'll be all Dr. Quinzel."

She snapped out of her strange reverie, nodded once and left the room closing the door.

He leaned forward once again and looked over some more papers, rubbing his temples, too wired to call it a day and go home. He glanced at the clock. 9:41 PM. He still has time.

"What patient shall I test?" he thought to himself, as he looked over a couple of files. Adjusting his glasses, he read, "Lynn Schwartz; age 37; severe case of catatonic schizophrenia... Lynn wouldn't be any fun to play with at the beginning. She could sit still for hours. Thomason Hindal; age 19; dissociative identity disorder. No, no. He would just be a nuisance. I'm not in the mood to hear his rants about who is coming after me."

A few more files here and there caught his interest and he laid them to the side, until he realized he had already went through most of them, down in his lab. He angrily tapped his knuckle on the desk. Weren't there any FUN crazies to play with nowadays? What happened to all the good ones for his experiments? It was hard trying to find one that fit to both of his wants. He rifled through about 4 more until one file caught his eye.

"Hmm," he sighed, eyeing the blank stare of the young woman in the picture, "Elizabeth Krueger. Age 23. Suffers from antisocial personality disorder, paranoid schizophrenia, bi-polar personality disorder, and has a long history of having a mental attachment with sharp objects... belonemaniac? Huh. She is notorious for breaking out of the asylum... Wow. She has the works. She seems interesting enough," he gently rubbed his thumb over her picture.

"She'll do."


	2. Chapter 2

"FUCKING LET ME GO! YOU SON OF A BITCH!" Liz pounded on the soft padding of her room with her side as hard as she could.

"I WILL LIGHT EVERYTHING YOU LOVE ON FIRE, STAB IT WITH A KNIFE AND FORCE FEED IT TO YOU SO HARD IT'LL-" she stopped suddenly, panting, leaned against one of the walls and sank down onto the damnable soft floor when she realized her threats would be of no use.

Her eyebrows furrowed as she leaned her head back slightly, a single clear bead of sweat rolled down the side of her face. Her dark empty eyes rolled around to look at the ceiling. The bright lights were agonizing. And everything was much too white in here. If she weren't already insane, she would eventually become it from the room's damn decor. She smirked at herself.

"Insane, am I?" Liz hoarsely exclaimed. No. What she thought was insane was what this damn city called "justice". Her colleagues had told her not to confuse justice with vengeance. What do they know? Had they been there when it happened? No they hadn't. And what about this so called bullshit fantasy known as innocence? Liz spat on the soft cushiony padding. She needed to focus on how she could get out of this hellish contraption. Sure, a straitjacket looked good on other people. But she figured it definitely wasn't her style.

"Goddammit, what TIME IS IT?" her question turned into a yell of anger directed at no one in particular. She needed to get out of here; closed off spaces and her do not get along. And it's starting to get harder each and every time she breaks out. She also gets angrier. Her mind was racing as her eyes darted around the padded room, to the door and around again.

A noise at the door broke her out of her own thoughts.

"Uhh, Mrs... Krueger!" a psychologist poked his head into the room looking down at a clipboard in hand. Liz wasn't expecting someone to be down at this time. Whatever time it was. But really, if she had expected him, she would have been out of this damn straitjacket, out the door and off the island.

He tore his eyes off from the clipboard when he didn't hear a response. He looked around until he met Liz's eyes, a mixed look of confusion and interest meeting a look clearly giving off a "what-the-fuck-do-YOU-want" vibe. When she continued to stare at him in that way, he quickly shook his head and cleared his throat.

"I'd like to speak with you, Mrs. Kr-"

"I'm not somebody's goddamn wife so stop calling me "Mrs.", alright, four eyes?" Liz scowled. He cleared his throat, turned to indicate to the two burly men in white to force Liz to get up and follow him.

Her feet were cold as they traveled down the cold hallway, her eyes darting back and forth to the two men flanked by her side. She thought it best not to make a run for it now. Instead, she angrily focused on to the psychologist's ramblings.

"It seems as if, Ms. Krueger," he licked his thumb and flipped a paper over, "that you seem to constantly yell and toss yourself around in your room, having random outbursts that," they reached a room and he fumbled for his keys, "are... directed to no one in particular. You've been here... what, nine hours? Mostly sedated. And you've broken out 3 other times. I wanted to give you some special attention and ask a few questions."

He opened the door and one of the men roughly plopped her on a seat. She looked around. The very first thing she noticed was that the room was stark white. Shit. The fluorescent lights above her flickered a bit, which started to cause a headache. In front of her was a mean looking metal table, just out of her reach. There was another chair across from her. The men started to remove her straitjacket, but as soon as she was free, Liz's arms and legs were shackled to the chair.

"Thank you, that'll be all," the psychologist nodded to the men, taking the seat across from Liz. She glared at them from under her eyelashes as they left the room, closing the door behind them.

"Now," he folded his hands and her attention snapped back to him, "I wanted to talk to you about several things, Ms. Krueger. First off, let me introduce myself. I'm Dr. Jonathan Crane. I... would shake your hand but it seems you're incapable of doing so."

"It seems like I won't be escaping again, if that's what you wanted to ask about, smartass," her left hand clenched.

"I see. Well, I suppose you're the type of woman to get down to business," he placed his chin on his folded hands. Liz opened her mouth to speak, but he cut her off.

"No, you see, Elizabeth, I don't care about how many times you've escaped. I don't care the reason why you were tossing around in your room- that was all just a show for your dear escorts. I don't want to ask what your motives were in what made you want to do what you did. No, I want to dig deep down to the roots of it, what started it all. I want to know my patients' perspective on things. They help me pick out the nitty gritty in their brains and dissect them into something I want to understand. I want to know what makes them tick, what happened before their morbid thoughts of the justice system or other shit like that," Liz shifted uncomfortable in her seat, "I'm just a man seeking knowledge. It's something that pleasures me," he leaned forward, "I'm a man who stops at nothing to get what he wants," his head lowered so his glasses glinted menacingly from the lights.

"My specialty is fear," he continued, looking directly into Liz's eyes, "Fear makes people do the craziest of things that root straight out from their childhood. An event happens that trigger an action and it's something that leaks into your brain and soaks there until something bad comes out of it. It's like shaking a bottle of soda and just waiting for the top to pop off. Except with humans, it's slower. Slower and more entertaining. Fear makes people do crazy things," he repeated, "and what better way to acquire knowledge of such things than here!" he spread his arms wide, his piercing blue eyes roaming briefly around the room.

"But why... What does that have to do with me? Why did you bring me here? I don't... want to be asked about what I fear," Liz replied, losing the edge to her voice and not knowing what to say. She knew she had issues. But she was starting to get the feel that this Crane guy wasn't all there himself. Her eyes darted to the clock. 10:02. He folded his hands on the table once again, looking down.

"I try and look into all the minds of my patients, Elizabeth," he replied calmly, the brief look of his insanity wiped clean off his face, "And, quite frankly, the whole subject simply fascinates me. And really, who's to stop me, who is to BELIEVE who when I am done with my little... experiments? Are the authorities to believe me, a well-known and respected psychologist? Or one of these crazies with a criminal past?"

Liz wasn't fully sure of what he was about to do, but she knew damn well that it wasn't legal and it would NOT be good.

"You fucking scumbag," she simply growled.

He stared at her, with those blue eyes that made it seem as if he were electrifying her. She stared back, quite not wanting to break his gaze, partially from want of looking into those beautiful eyes and hate of what he was trying to imply.

Finally, after what seemed never ending, he looked down, sighed, and took off his glasses. He looked back up at her.

"Would you like to see my mask?"


	3. Chapter 3

"Which one?"

Dr. Crane paused.

"What?" he blinked, caught a little off guard.

"Weren't you technically wearing one earlier? 'That was just an act', isn't that what you said? Pretending to be something you're not. Pretending to be a stupid psychologist, who acts high and mighty and oh so concerned for his patients when all you do is play with them to your benefits. What if I wear a mask as well? What if I'm not really the crazy one here?" when Liz finished her bitter speech, she looked up wearily from where she sat.

Dr. Crane blinked. He had no idea how to react to that. He hadn't met someone as observant as her. He stood up slowly and leaned his arms on the table towards Liz. He stared at her, and she eventually lowered her gaze, as she was just worn out from all this filth that seems to never escape her life. First the incident. Then the injustice. Now this? What could possibly be next?

Dr. Crane then sighed.

"I can't wait to test you," he sneered. He pulled out a metallic looking briefcase. Liz jerked, suddenly alert.

"Maybe it won't seem as scary," the briefcase clicks, indicating it's open, "at least, to a girl like you, I believe," he looks up at her from under his eyelashes briefly, then pulls out a grotesque looking mask, resembling that of a scarecrow's head. It's stitchings around the eyes and mouth were warped and lop-sided. But it didn't send Liz into a frenzy like he'd probably hoped.

"I don't underst-" Liz began, but she was cut off by a gas being blown right in her face, making her cough and shut her eyes.

"Wh- what are- wha-" she sputtered, tossing her head from side to side, vainly trying to rid the powdered gas from her face. She started yelping as her eyes slowly opened.

"They scream. They cry," a warped version of Crane's voice emitted from the terrifying image before her, a twisted potato-sack of a face with melting eyes and a melting mouth. She screamed as gigantic tarantulas, the size of plates, starts crawling out from the orifices, "much like you are now," he moved around the table closer to her.

As he towered over her, Liz was hyperventilating by this time, when a couple of the spiders fell off his face and landed on her chair, crawling up the armrests and onto her arms, making her skin tingle with goosebumps. She started whimpering as he bent down to examine her face. She shut her eyes wanting for it all to stop, begging for these things to cease, and when she opened her eyes it only got worse for her.

In Crane's place, there stood the man that ruined her life, who terrorizes her dreams, who haunts the daily events of her past everyday life eventually spiraling her into madness.

"You," she whispered in a low menacing voice. He was the one that ruined everything, "You made me... hurt my mom. Why?" more tears spilled from her face as she screamed, "YOU FUCKER! YOU SON OF A B-"

He roughly pulled her hair back and tilted it towards the ceiling. Except, it wasn't the ceiling she was looking at. It looked more like a screen. In the screen, she saw herself at a very young age. She saw her mother. They were in that run-down apartment that she hated so much. She watched herself walk over to her mother, a carving knife hidden behind her back. As Liz hugged her mom, she saw herself raise the carving knife and heard her mother's piercing screams as she etched through her mom's clothing into her back a rough picture of a flower, namely, a daisy.

But her mother would not let go. They both knew it would be the last time they saw each other. The image was fading away as she saw herself lowering the knife to her side, her mother shaking and blood dripping from her back as she clutched her daughter even tighter to her. But before it completely vanished, she noticed in the corner a dark figure and a faint evil laughter seeming to echo from the surroundings.

And then she blacked out.


	4. Chapter 4

Dr. Crane quickly pulled off his mask, slightly perspiring and panting a little bit. These events always gave him such a rush. He turned from her unconscious form, tossed his mask onto the table and plopped back down on the chair, leaning his head into one hand. His eyebrows knit together as he recalled what just happened.

She was just like any other patient at first, slight short intakes of breath leading into a frenzy of hyperventilating then screaming and crying. Her hallucinations started when he had moved around the table, and, noticing her quickening eye movement, it seemed as if she were watching things crawling over his face. This thought was justified when he approached her and she looked down at herself as if brought under the feeling of formication. Then it got really weird. The way she reacted. It was like she was experiencing a past event in her life.

He glanced back at her from his seat, her head still slightly tilted from when she threw back her head violently. He never lay a finger on her, yet when her face was facing the ceiling she was screaming at someone or something to stop touching her and to get away.

Then she had stopped completely, her body freezing, gasping so that it was highly audible, her eyes were wide eyed and wild, staring at the ceiling. Then she burst into more terrifying screams. She was screaming at someone to not do it, whatever "it" was. She was screaming at how she didn't mean to do something, how she never needed something. It was all too confusing, until again she was still. He had quietly watched her as tears pored from her already-sore eyes, and she stayed like that for about a few moments until she slowly closed her eyes and faded from consciousness.

He wondered what she was remembering.

He jolted in his seat as a small groan interrupted his thoughts. Liz blearily opened her eyes and tried to sit up straight. She noticed her arms and legs were shackled and tried to break free, but couldn't. She felt tired; her head pounded and her heart felt like it had been beating so fast before then quickly reduced to a beat equivalent to those who would be asleep. Her eyes went in and out of focus and she didn't have enough strength to keep her head up, so that it lolled from side to side.

Dr. Crane stared at her. He looked over her, for the first time noticing fully just how appealing she was to the eye. Yes, she had cried buckets of tears and had been emitting piercing screams a few moments ago. But she was still very, very attractive. He shifted in his seat as he took in her face, the white of her neck, the plumpness of her breasts, the curviness of her hips and legs. He could notice all of that even under her thin garment.

He stood up. Ever so often, he would have a little more fun with his patients. He got that way too, a little bit of lusty feelings here and there, for he was only human and really, there are just so many outlets for these kind of desires.

He walked over to her, standing over her and examining her features more closely. Her head tilted towards him, her eyes slightly open. Liz smiled.

"What're you gonna do to me now? Torture me more?" she breathed, that tired smile still on her face.

"I'm not done playing with you," Dr. Crane simply replied. Liz chuckled and turned away from him again.

"I hope you rot in hell eternally. I'll be saving a seat for you."

His hand twitched. What was this? Did he feel a slight sense of... pity?

"No. I'm not going to let one of these lunatics pin anything on me. They're the insane ones here, not me," he thought to himself, as he willed himself to roughly grab her breasts.

Liz gasped. He wasn't gentle, that was for sure. Her brain still slightly fuzzy, she recalled how she does prefer dealing with the rougher side of the opposite sex. She closed her eyes and sighed, letting him feel her. She wanted him to feel her, weakly hoping for at least a brief escape route from all this shit.

He removed one hand and tilted her chin so that she was facing him. His lips crashed against hers, eager to get all this useless pent up emotion out. He felt himself hardening even further and wanted so bad for her to help him... release. But he knew he shouldn't and couldn't because the second he unshackles her from the chair, she will be out the door and out of his life. It would've been better if she were strapped down on a table in his lab. Damn. Maybe next time.

He suddenly stopped. He stood straight, and glared at her as Liz's eyes opened again to look at what he was going to do. She could see what he was doing under his coat. He was rubbing a bulge over his pants. She looked into those gorgeous blue eyes of his and could tell he was contemplating something. She hoped he was going to release her, but instead he turned around and sat back in his chair, putting his glasses back on.

Liz felt some strength returning to her, the lethargic feeling from the aftermath of her violent episode ebbing away. Dr. Crane just sat there. He dared not look at her anymore, because he wanted to just put her back in her room for the time-being. And he wanted this damn erection to cease. Instead he focused his thoughts on dissecting her reaction; his curiosity was definitely outweighing how full of lust he felt. After he busied himself with putting his belongings away, they both sat in silence, Liz's anger returning with every second that ticked away. Her first thought was irrational.

"What the fuck was that? He fondles me, most likely was gonna rape me then stops? What the hell, is there something dissatisfying about me? Impossible," she thought, seething, "Wait. If I wanted it then it most likely wouldn't be rape."

Dr. Crane stood up once again.

"Don't move," he commanded, without looking at her, but instead of approaching her again, he opened the door and left the room, closing the door behind him.

"What an asshole," Liz muttered to herself. She breathed in deeply and tried to recall exactly what happened to her. So she went on a little trip on some drugs that made her see some crazy shit. Okay. She remembers that. She remembered the spiders and shuddered. But there was something else.

It then struck her and she remembered what she had been trying to suppress. She recalled reliving the memory with her mother and the man, her so-called "friend". She quickly shook her head. Liz didn't want to think of that now. She had cried enough tonight. The clock read 11:06 PM.

Dr. Crane opened the door again, a tranquilizer in hand and the two burly men following him closely behind.

"I hope you have a good night's sleep, Ms. Krueger. Thank you for your participation," he sighed calmly and smiled a little at her.

He quickly injected the liquid into her neck before she could even react, and once again she was plunged into darkness.


	5. Chapter 5

After setting an unconscious Elizabeth Krueger back in her cell, Dr. Crane was back in his normal office, pacing up and down. He had written down what she had said. He stopped at his desk and looked over his notes.

-Krueger screams at Person A not to do a certain event.

-Krueger seems to have done something she regrets.

-She claims to have never needed a certain object.

He ran his hand through his dark curls. He didn't know what all this meant, and it was maddeningly vague. He needed to talk to her again. And soon. Because this will drive him crazy if he doesn't get more details as soon as possible.

He pounded his fist on the table. He had never felt so frustrated, at least not in a while. He had to have some kind of release. The psychologist stood straight and headed towards the door. He had decided to do something about part of his frustration as he locked it.

When he went to sit back down he turned Elizabeth's file so that he was looking as her picture. Dr. Crane smoothly and lightly ran his thumb over her picture, his other hand traveling down towards his crotch.

He sat back, closed his eyes and rubbed over his tan pants in a sensitive spot. He remembered the way her hair fell over her face, brushing over her frightened and determined facial expression. He could feel that familiar lump starting to grow, so he unbuckled and unzipped his pants and reached under his boxer-briefs. He thought of how she had screamed at him in fear and anger, and in his mind, turned them into screams of pleasure. Before he could even think twice, he shifted so that his semi-hard dick was exposed and so that he could get a better feel.

The clock ticked away as he thought of her and stroked himself. He knew he wanted her, feel her skin on his, have her whimper his name, whether in fear or pleasure or both he did not care. Each individual desire involving her had led him to go faster. He knew he just wanted her, and as soon as he had come to that conclusion, he came.

He leaned forward and plucked a tissue out of the Kleenex box and wiped his finishing result off of him, then buckled and zipped up his pants. He stood in the middle of his office, hands on his hips and eyebrows raised.

"This has been quite a night," he thought to himself and shook his head. As he grabbed his briefcase he glanced once more at his notes before stuffing them in a drawer and locking it.

"Maybe I need a vacation," he uttered to himself, laughing a little at his preposterous idea while unlocking his door.

He glanced once more at the clock, which read 11:52 before shutting off the light and closing the door behind him.


End file.
